Larpent lay back in his chair with the air of a man who has said his say.  He did not even glance towards his companion, and there followed a considerable pause before either of them spoke again.

Abruptly at length Saltash wheeled.

“Larpent!” There was something of a whip-lash quality about his voice; it seemed to cut the silence.  “Why the devil do you tell me this?  Can’t you see that it’s the very thing I’m guarding against?  Young Bunny is the best remedy she could take for a disease of that kind.  And after all,—­she’s only a child.”

“Do you say that for your own benefit or for mine?” said Larpent, without turning his head.

“What do you mean?” Savagely Saltash flung the question, but the man in the chair remained unmoved.

“You know quite well what I mean,” he said.  “You know that it isn’t true.”

“What isn’t true?” Saltash came swiftly back across the room, moving as if goaded.  He took his tumbler from the mantel-piece and drank the contents almost at a gulp.  “Go on!” he said, with his back to Larpent.  “May as well finish now you’ve begun.  What isn’t true?”

Larpent lounged in his chair and watched him, absolutely unmoved.

“When a thing is actually in existence—­an accomplished fact—­it’s rather futile to talk of guarding against it,” he said, in his brief, unsympathetic voice.  “You’ve been extraordinarily generous to the imp, and it isn’t surprising that she should be extraordinarily grateful.  She wouldn’t be human if she weren’t.  But when it comes to handing her on to another fellow—­well, she may consent, but it won’t be because she wants to, but because it’s the only thing left.  She knows well enough by this time that what she really wants is out of her reach.”

Again Saltash made a fierce movement, but he did not turn or speak.

Larpent took out his pipe and began to fill it.  “You’ve been too good a friend to her,” he went on somewhat grimly, “and you’re not made of the right stuff for that sort of thing.  I’m sorry for the kid because she’s a bit of a pagan too, and it’s hard to have to embrace respectability whether you want to or not.”

“Oh, damn!” Saltash exclaimed, suddenly and violently.  “What more could any man have done?  What the devil are you driving at?”

He turned upon Larpent almost menacingly, and found the steady eyes, still with that icy glint of humour in them, unflinchingly awaiting his challenge.

“You want to get married,” the sailor said imperturbably.  “Why in the name of all the stars of destiny don’t you marry her?  She may not have the blue blood in her veins, but blood isn’t everything, and you’ve got enough for two.  And it’s my opinion you’d find her considerably easier to please than some—­less strict in her views too, which is always an advantage to a man of your varying moods.”

Saltash’s laugh had a curious jarring sound as of something broken.  “Oh, you think that would be a suitable arrangement, do you?  And how long do you think I should stick to her?  How long would it be before she ran away?”